The Gardens of Digby Green: Connection?
Detective Marquez, typing the second page of his report on the disinterments at the vacant lot, was interrupted when a brown-skinned middle aged woman was ushered into his work area. He raised an eyebrow, and the lady cleared her throat.
“My name’s Keziah Tibbins, and I, I gotta tell ya somethin’.”
“Take a seat,” he said.
She did, and began. “I’m ’rigin’ly from Hazel Green, Alabama. ’Bout two weeks ago, my husband called me out of the kitchen at our place, Bubba’s Fish Fry, because he said there was a customer with an accent like mine.
Don’t know which of us was more shocked, me or the guy, because I knew him.
I said, ‘Digby Green, what are you doin’ here? I’ve had a letter that says your mama hasn’t been seen since last September.’ Now his mama, Hazel Green, is a real good herbalist…”
The detective held up a hand.
“Wait. You’re saying you lived in Hazel Green, and know someone named Hazel Green?”
Keziah nodded.
“That’s right. Hazel’s a real good herbalist. I bought some skin tonic from her, made from witch hazel she grew in her own yard. Best tonic ever. Anyway,” she waved one hand dismissively.
“When I said no one saw Hazel since September, that boy Digby’s eyes bugged out, and he snatched up his order of fish and hush puppies, and ran out of our shop without his Coca-Cola.” She paused for breath.
“Why are you telling me this?” Marquez frowned.
“Well, last week my husband, Bubba, went with his friend to try out Joe’s new…” she spun one hand in a small circle over her Marquez’s desk, “Drone, that’s it, his drone-thing, and they showed me video from the camera, and I saw something so weird on it, that I got scared.”
“Miniature roses planted in the shape of a cross,” Marquez said.
“Yes! How did you know?”
“They brought me the footage yesterday. I’ve seen it.” He’d seen much more, but she wasn’t to know. A Hazel Green missing from Hazel Green… and Ray Wilkinson’s Rose, no longer missing… were they really connected? He’d have to be the one to inform Ray. Thank goodness the man was on leave. “Mrs. Tibbins, do you know where Digby Green is?”
She sighed. “No, sir.”
“Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Tibbins.” He handed her a business card with his name and a phone number. “If you think of any other detail that might be helpful, call me.”
The Gardens of Digby Green is a serialized story that posts on Fridays.
Next week, part forty-two, Jurisdiction.
Find a link to purchase Heartland Treasures anthology here.
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